that would have had no terrors for Tom o' the blueb'ry
plains. Terrors of some sort, nevertheless, the poor-farm had for him;
and when the sheriff's party turned in by the clump of white birches and
approached the cabin, they found that fear had made the simple wise. Tom
had provished the little upper chamber, and, in place of the piece of
sacking that usually served him for a door in winter, he had woven a
defense of willow. In fine, he had taken all his basket stuff, and,
treating the opening through which he entered and left his home
precisely as if it were a bottomless chair, he had filled it in solidly,
weaving to and fro, by night as well as by day, till he felt, poor fool,
as safely intrenched as if he were in the heart of a fortress.

The sheriff tied his horse to a tree, and Rube Hobson and Pitt Packard
got out of the double wagon. Two men laughed when they saw the pathetic
defense, but the other shut his lips together and caught his breath.
(He had been born on a poor-farm, but no one knew it at Pleasant River.)
They called Tom's name repeatedly, but no other sound broke the silence
of the plains save the rustling of the wind among the dead leaves.

"Numb-head!" muttered the sheriff, pounding on the side of the cabin
with his whip-stock. "Come out and show yourself! We know you're in
there, and it's no use hiding!"

At last in response to a deafening blow from Rube Hobson's hard fist,
there came the answering note of a weak despairing voice.

"Tom ain't ter hum," it said; "Tom's gone to Bonny Eagle."

"That's all right!" guffawed the men; "but you've got to go some more,
and go a diff'rent way. It ain't no use fer you to hold back; we've got
a ladder, and by Jiminy! you go with us this time!"

The ladder was put against the side of the hut, and Pitt Packard climbed
up, took his jack-knife, slit the woven door from top to bottom, and
turned back the flap.

The men could see the inside of the chamber now. They were humorous
persons who could strain a joke to the snapping point, but they felt,
at last, that there was nothing especially amusing in the situation.
Tom was huddled in a heap on the straw bed in the far corner. The vacant
smile had fled from his face, and he looked, for the first time in his
life, quite distraught.

"Come along, Tom," said the sheriff kindly; "we 're going to take you
where you can sleep in a bed, and have three meals a day."

"I'd much d'ruth-er walk in the bloom-in' gy